He’d seen guys like Beau before. Running headlong into trouble. Leading the charge when they weren’t in charge. Picking fights. Seeking after the bullet with their names on it. But Beau seemed angrier than most. Alex just didn’t know why.
After ensuring his wife and daughter were in good hands—namely Zack Lennox’s and Jake Weylin’s—Alex headed for the helicopter pad he’d convinced the city council they needed shortly after he’d moved to this town. Since he’d covered most of the up-front costs and provided a team of capable pilots, the council was easily persuaded. Not that this little community of horse ranchers and farmers really needed to fly into the city, but he did. So did Maverick.
Alex wouldn’t have moved this far west without quick access to his office back in Alexandria and the District he served. Just wasn’t smart.
The chopper was at the hospital’s landing pad when his cell vibrated in his jacket pocket. Maverick.
“What now?” Alex bit out.
“Don’t bother coming, Boss. He’s gone.”
“Son-of-a-bitch, we’re hovering over GWU already. You let him leave?”
“Couldn’t stop him. The man’s possessed. Told us to fuck off, said you can take this job and shove it up your, well, you know.”
Alex rolled the kink out of his neck that acted up whenever he lost control of an operation, or a stubborn, bone-headed agent who’d soon be looking for another job.
“Call when you catch up with Doc Fitz,” he told Maverick. Then to the pilot he said, “Take me home,” but he thought, ‘I am going to kick Beau Jennings’ ass!’
Chapter Thirteen
Beau knew damned well Maverick and Gabe were tailing him, not like he didn’t know how to lose them. But hailing a cab had taken longer than expected. And okay, he was tired, stupid, and hurting, not a good combination. But someone needed to end that bitch Montego before she hurt another unsuspecting guy, and he was the man for the job. He owed her. Big time. The woman had cut off his finger. Why couldn’t anyone understand what she’d done to him? What she’d taken? How much that fuckin’ hurt?
He’d never given anything away. Not his soul. Not his heart. Not so much as a crumb off his toast to a passing sparrow, yet she… Shit! She’d tied him down and mutilated him! The bitch wasn’t getting away with it. What’d Alex think, locking him up in some hospital like a child pitching a temper tantrum? Beau Jennings had never been anybody’s kid. He wasn’t starting now.
“You decided where I’m taking you next?” Still keeping one eye on Beau in the rearview, the older gentleman waited patiently while the meter rolled. Tall, as black as night with short, curly hair and dark eyes that seemed to see through Beau, the cabbie was one of many immigrants who’d made his home in the District’s surrounding neighborhoods.
He’d already taken Beau to his apartment, where Beau changed into black jeans, a plain black polo, black socks, and just as black work boots—for night work. Where he’d also strapped on his twin holster, complete with his two favorite pistols, loaded. He’d topped that ensemble off with a light—black, of course—leather jacket, more to conceal his arsenal than because of the cold.
“I’m thinking,” Beau bit out, chewing the knuckle on his good hand. Whatever that nurse at the hospital had shot his injured hand up with had worn off. The damned thing throbbed like a mother. He was edgy, verging on mean. Maybe leaving the hospital so soon after that complex hand surgery hadn’t been smart. Maybe Dr. Fitzgerald was right. But what real man lies around in bed and heals, while everyone else does his job for him? Beau wasn’t made that way. He paid his dues up front and on time. Maverick and Gabe needed to back off. Alex did, too.
“Take me to this address,” Beau finally said as he leaned over the front seat and handed the cabbie a card with Stewarts’ street address. It made sense to go back to the scene of the crime. Yeah, Ringer’s house would be cordoned off for sure. Police tape would be everywhere, but the sun was going down soon, and Beau planned on taking another look inside the house of terror. Catalina Montego, the bitch from Hell, had to have left a clue, and he planned on finding it. Then her. Then, double tap and problem solved. He’d rest easier. So would the rest of the world.
“You sure about that? It’s a long way and it will cost you.”
Money wasn’t the problem. Stamina was. Endurance. Staying awake. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Beau rolled his shoulder, fighting the compelling urge to close his eyes for a minute. To rest, so he’d be ready to execute his plan the moment this cab’s wheels stopped rolling. Maybe then his hand wouldn’t ache. Yeah, right. “Wake me up when we get there.”
The cabbie nodded. “You got it.”
“And if you can lose the black Tundra following us, I’ll double your fare.”
The cabbie’s brows lifted and promptly, the vehicle accelerated. “That I can do, sir. Hang onto your hat.”
Beau fell asleep to the twists and turns of a man thirsty for cash. He himself had no use for the hefty paycheck Alex provided. It was more than he needed. Beau had long ago learned the benefits of living a frugal life, and of getting by. A man used to living in Army barracks or on the street, didn’t need much. Just his pride and his damned finger!
Two hours later, Beau woke as the cab slowed on an off-ramp. Night had fallen and there was no sign of his teammates. Good deal. That’d make getting into Alex’s gated community easy. Well, easier. The front entry had a guard shack, but Beau hadn’t spotted any roving guards on the streets the time he’d been invited out here for a picnic.
Once off the interstate, he asked the cabbie to pull into the first all-night convenience store he came across. Scrambling inside, Beau purchased a prepaid phone, a burner. He’d left his cell behind in the hospital head, so Alex couldn’t track him. Back in the cab, he tossed the plastic wrapping and plugged the new device into the portable power bank he’d snagged before he’d left his place. It’d charge that new phone in minutes.
Finally parked alongside the eight-foot, ivy-covered wall Alex lived behind, Beau handed over his American Express Platinum card and made an honest man happy.
“Want me to wait for you?” the cabbie asked as he ran the card and handed Beau his receipt.
Stuffing the paper into his jeans pocket, Beau shook his head. “No, but thank you, sir. I can take it from here.”
The cabbie rolled his eyes. “I ain’t no sir, but honest. I don’t mind waiting for a guy like you, and I will give you a ride back to your place. Or wherever you want to go. For free. No charge. I’ll be going that way anyway. Sounds like a good deal. I’d take it if I were you.”
It was impossible to miss the blatant hope in the guy’s voice. The older gent was kind enough. Maybe a little greedy, but Beau understood the hand-to-mouth rule that most blue-collared folks lived by. It was simply the law of the jungle. If you didn’t make a buck, you didn’t eat. But he didn’t need witnesses, and he still had to get over the wall. That ought to be fun, him with a buggered-up hand that now ached like shit.
“You take care,” Beau said by way of dismissal.
“If you say so, but…” The cabbie stalled, his gaze shifting to the thick gauze on Beau’s hand. “If I may. Please, one word, just one. You seem like a nice young man, and I do not like to leave you out here, hurt like you are. It is late, and you’re alone. You seem lost or sick, maybe. Are you? I can help. Trust me. I know people.”
Beau shook his head. Trust me. The first thing everyone said before they walked out on a guy or stabbed him in the back. Yeah, he was plenty tired—of users. But he wasn’t sick, not in the physical sense. Well, except for his hand. That hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m not sick, but as you can see, I, umm, did hurt my hand. You happen to have anything on you for pain?” He lifted said bandaged mitt. “I left home without my meds. Just need a couple aspirin to get by, that’s all. Nothing serious and I don’t want any narcotics. I’m no addict, just an idiot who left his
Lortab behind.” Or whatever that prescription was I’m supposed to get filled.
Why doctors sent written prescriptions home with critically ill patients, who, by the way, couldn’t get to the Walgreens on the corner because they were sick, made no sense. But Beau wished he’d made that stop now.
“I have just the thing.” The accommodating fellow flipped his visor down and produced one of those seven-day pillboxes older people used.
Shit. Now Beau felt guilty on top of stupid. Stealing from the poor or elderly was not how he rolled. Even on the street, they were the ones he looked out for, at least as much as a homeless kid looked out for anyone. “Never mind, I can’t take that from—”
“Yes, please, sure you can. I give to you. For your hand. You are my friend, and friends help each other, yes?”
Beau looked closer as his ‘friend’ leaned over the back of the seat and dumped seven tiny little pills into his palm. “What are they?”
“Eighty-milligram aspirin. Cherry flavored.” The cabbie said proudly as he thumped his chest. “I have a bad heart, but these little pills keep it ticking. Ha! I am like a Timex. I take a licking and keep on ticking. Get it?”
No, I don’t get it. You’re giving me baby aspirin, when I could use a handful of Vicodin? Beau chucked all seven into his mouth, tossed his head back, and swallowed. Low-dose aspirin was not what he’d had in mind, but hey. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Climbing out of the cab, he stretched. Carefully. His leather jacket creaked in the midnight silence. Every movement radiated up his arm and into the throbbing stump under his well-wrapped left hand. She cut off my finger. The bitch!
“Hey, sir, before you leave…” The cabbie leaned out his window. “I just want to say…”
Now what? “Yes?” Beau asked respectfully.
This guy right here and the millions like him were the reasons Beau had enlisted. He’d done it for honest folks. Hard working folks. The silent American majority. Jesus, he loved them. It hadn’t hurt that he’d been down on his luck when he’d run into an Army recruiter in Las Vegas. But from that point on, his best days had been spent knowing he’d served and defended people who were just like him. Not assholes who lived in cry-me-a-river, I’m-moving-to-Canada-because-I-didn’t-get-my-way, wah-wah-wah Hollywood. Not Uncle Sam, either. Just. Regular. People.
The cabbie’s eyes gleamed in the golden glow of the streetlights. “You’re on a quest. I can tell. Once I searched for something, too. I hope you find it like I did. I just hope you’re happy when you get what you think you want so bad that you came all this way in the middle of the night.” Whatever that meant. “Be well, sir. Do not take any wooden nickels.”
“Goodnight,” Beau replied to get this talkative guy to leave. He had work to do, not enough strength to get it done, and he doubted the cabbie knew what that old timer’s saying meant.
Turning his back on the cab, Beau walked a few steps, waiting to hear tires on the street as it rolled away. But it didn’t. Forced to take action he wasn’t quite up to, Beau stuck his chin to his chest and jogged the stretch of wall beside him. That was one problem he hadn’t foreseen. Cabbies weren’t supposed to care.
At the end of the wall, he came to an industrial-sized electrical box hidden in the shrubs strategically planted at the corner. That’ll work.
Glancing back at the cab still parked at the curb with its headlights still on, he hoped the cabbie had dozed off. As handily as he could, Beau scaled the box, hoisted his aching body over the wall, and was finally inside.
Now, to backtrack to where he’d last seen Alex’s evil neighbor.
Chapter Fourteen
Glad to be home, McKenna lounged for hours in her tub with a good book and a bottle of Soft Huckleberry from Idaho’s lovely Ste. Chapelle Winery. She’d come here to relax, so of course she’d ignored the urgent pounding at her front door hours earlier. She knew who it was.
Had to be Maverick, which was why she’d sunk further into her tub until water settled over her ears and muffled the noise. The man was handsome as sin, but he didn’t bend to logical arguments why she needed to work. What would he have said if she’d let him in? Yeah, not going there. She would’ve been dragged out the door to somewhere he deemed safe. Somewhere he could keep an eye on her. Or he would’ve camped out in her secluded little apartment and followed her to work every day.
That simply wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t want to hear his high-pressure pitch or face his wrath. So she’d stayed in her tub and took an extra-long swallow of wine to steady her nerves and reinforce her decision. She had a life to get back to and patients who needed her. In a couple days. As soon as everything calmed down. After Maverick caught that crazy, finger-stealing woman.
After the banging finally stopped, and her heart resumed a semi-normal rhythm, McKenna experienced a tiny bit of guilt for running out on Maverick and Gabe like she had. For being ungrateful. Alex and his men meant well, but the whole concept of protective custody reminded her of all those times she’d been locked inside dark closets for hours on end. Okay, so the two had nothing in common. Protective custody was a good thing, while closets and small dark places were definite triggers, but still. She just couldn’t do it.
“I’ll call Alex as soon as I get out of this tub,” she reasoned out loud. “He’s a professional. He’ll understand.”
That actually sounded good, like something Alex would agree to. But after her fingertips were sufficiently pruned, the last swallow of wine gone, and the last of her hot water used—because how long can a woman stay in the tub?—McKenna knew better. Alex would be just as stubborn and unyielding as Maverick and Gabe.
Instead of placing that well-intentioned call, she dallied in her seldom-used kitchen and prepared a pan of her dad’s favorite Chicken Alfredo. Craving a carb overload after her exciting day, she toasted two slices of garlic bread in her oven. Besides, she needed something to absorb all the wine. Then, with a glass of sparkling water, she settled down in a pair of flannel pajamas in front of her television to watch the late-night news while she feasted. After all, why wake the man now, right? Apologies could wait until morning. After he’d had a good night’s sleep. When she felt braver.
But as the news proved to be less information and more celebrity drama than she cared to know, McKenna rethought her previous plan. She should at least let Alex know where she was and that she was safe. That was only fair. But the hour was late, and by then, she was seriously embarrassed for the way she’d acted.
Instead of texting Kelsey and begging forgiveness for over-reacting—another good idea—McKenna clicked off the television and shuffled back to her kitchen. She washed her dinner dishes in the sink instead of stuffing them in the dishwasher. Then she proceeded into her home office, intent on burying her guilt by transcribing her own notes for transfer to Margo’s inbox come morning. Wouldn’t she be surprised?
For hours, procrastination and diversion kept McKenna’s mind busy, her hands occupied, and her conscience quiet. But around one thirty in the morning, the house phone rang. Interesting. “Dad?” she asked, concerned. “What’s—?”
“Doctor Fitzgerald?” a woman interrupted, her voice uncommonly brittle and certainly not one McKenna recognized.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” She knew everyone at the center. Who was this person? “Is this about my father?” Please say no.
“It’s not what you can do for me. It’s what I can do for you.”
That sounded ominous. “Who is this and what do you want? Are you selling something?” Man, the world was full of telephone scammers these days. The nerve of some people!
“I’m a friend. In fact, I can be your very good friend if you let me. You father is Sanders Fitzgerald, is that right?”
Panic climbed up McKenna’s throat. This was no courtesy or spam call. “What’s going on?”
“Why don’t you come to your door and find out?”
Afraid for her dad, McKenna flew to
her door and undid the lock. “Who are you?” she asked again as she opened her door and scanned the white painted railing behind the woman standing there. “And where’s my father?”
“How would I know? You’re a physician. You work at the family practice clinic on Rosewood Drive.”
“So?” McKenna blinked at those odd info-bytes. Was this about her dad or did this woman need a doctor? “If you’ve been spying on me, you know I help lots of people. That’s what doctors do. Is that why you’re here?”
“You take care of men who lost, say… a finger?” The stranger cocked her head in an oddly coy way, revealing a long slender neck inked with tattoos, as well as a thick, black braid coiled over one shoulder like a snake. Long black skirt. Silvery bracelets jangled at her wrist.
This can’t be her. Just. No.
But only Catalina Montego would know about Beau’s missing finger. Because she’d taken it. Which was why she now stood on McKenna’s very private front porch. She’d somehow seen and then tracked the physician who’d assisted Beau. Well after midnight. On the same day McKenna had foolishly ditched the protection she should’ve enjoyed. Relished. Appreciated!
Montego’s skirt rustled as she aimed a gun at McKenna’s chest. “Let me in, child.”
McKenna’s heart jumped up into her throat. Oh, crap.
Chapter Fifteen
Beau landed hard on his feet in someone’s backyard. But not in a bramble of thorns this time, which would’ve been his luck. No motion sensor lights flashed on. No alarms sounded. Both good signs that not everyone in this neighborhood was as compulsively paranoid as Alex. But damn, his wounded hand throbbed like it was on fire. That was the thing about injuries. The wicked pain from surgery now radiated up his arm, stormed over his shoulder like a cat-o-nine-tails on steroids, and stretched its nerve racking claws up his neck. A migraine threatened. He’d have to rest soon. After. Not now. But damned soon.
Swallowing hard, Beau headed east toward Stewarts’, cradling his injured hand against his chest to manage the pain as well as his nerves. There was no need to jog. The neighborhood was quiet, locked down for the night, and he had time. But he worried he’d undone what Dr. Decker had painstakingly accomplished. For a small thing, that baby finger certainly lit up every last nerve ending in his body.
Beau (In the Company of Snipers Book 18) Page 9
